


Conflict

by ARandomFactoid



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Minor Character Death, post-following the Qun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 15:03:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7392043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARandomFactoid/pseuds/ARandomFactoid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke is coming ever closer to the Qunari 'issue' in Kirkwall, the stress of it all boils over and she has a bit of a vent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conflict

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr, lightly re-edited (mostly for tense consolidation) and re-posted.

It has been a long day - Seamus Dumar is dead, Patrice is dead, and the Viscount and Arishok can effectively be counted out from any constructive contribution to maintaining the peace, or at least the status quo. Despite what they say they are going to do, go home and clean up, Hawke, Fenris, and Anders do not go home; and Sebastian (who had been awoken by a brother who noticed the trio’s arrival, oblivious to the events transpiring in the sanctuary) does not return to his bed, but follows the others to the Hanged Man in unspoken and unremarked upon agreement.

Hawke is leading, as usual, turns her head back to look at the others in random intervals. Of their group, she is the only one truly interested in the Qunari ‘cold’ conflict - Anders’ interest limited to what would happen to the mages if the Qunari attacked, and Sebastian mostly fearful for his fellow faithful, notably Elthina. Fenris… understands, but is distracted by his unending worry of pursuit by another, better known, quantity. But what tonight _meant_ is Hawke’s burden - and what to do about it seems to be ever-more on her shoulders. Maker knows the Gallows can’t be bothered - more concerned with her and her friends at the moment, of all things about to rain destruction down on them. She has no idea of what and even less power to do what is needed to prevent the conflict from turning hot.

She is not surprised, really, that when arriving at the pub, at finding Varric, Isabela, and Merrill already at cards. The conversation does not linger on the events of the night. Respects and a drink are paid to the lost heir (and nice, idealistic, and if one’s honest - handsome, if doomed, young man) - and both sides are tksd and chided for the unbending curve of their spines. And then, the conversation drifts; to how the recent combatants faired - they were fighting barely armed civilians and a few templars daft enough to believe that civilians made a decent fighting force. They fared as if they were fighting flowers, and they were loathe to discuss it. Sebastian turns the conversation away from them - to the others; to Merrill’s shopping and Isabella’s hats, Varric’s never-ending quest to shirk his Merchant’s Guild duties. Hawke fidgets, the events of the night roiling in her head as she struggles to keep up with the conversation. 

It’s almost a relief when Aveline arrives a few hours later, wanting to talk to Hawke about what went down in the Chantry. The Guard had been called in and the Viscount’s son warrants no less than the Captain’s personal involvement. But Hawke is family, and Aveline is sure of Hawke’s having done the right thing, so the conversation she needs to have will happen where Hawke is, and not in the Keep as has been suggested by more politically minded functionaries. For her part, Hawke is in need to discuss it with someone - after Aveline’s admonishments of not bringing her along, that she could have helped, if only to shield Hawke from the fallout, to keep her out of the forefront of the Changry’s gaze. “I can’t be dragging you into these political messes” Hawke avers “someone has to be apart - above - all of this.” 

They sit apart from the others, murmuring quietly straightforward answers to straightforward questions - and Hawke can see Fenris watching them warily from the end of Varric’s low table (he hadn’t sat there originally, she remembered, he must have moved when Aveline pulled her away). She meets his gaze, reassuring him that she is well. He unconsciously flexes his wrist, bringing attention to the red favor still tied there, these months later. She knows that if she did not wish to be here, doing this, he would get her out, even facing down Aveline, whom he has come to count as a friend and valuable ally. And right now, if she was certain he would keep going with her - away from Kirkwall and all of its problems, she would let him.

When Aveline is winding down, simultaneously making sure again that Hawke is alright and arguing with herself over whether or not to stay for a while, Hawke notices that the others have begun to bicker. They are being quiet, for as quiet as the lot gets, but they are biting off the end of their sentences with _mage, wench, dwarf, elf, chantry brother_ , and other appellations that belie the calm veneer of the conversation. Hawke missed what set them off, but she can tell it has fallen along the usual lines, mages vs templars, freedom versus safety, the Qunari effect on the city. Varric sits at the head of his table, the only one trying to diffuse the situation, but tonight it is even beyond him. Poor Sebastian, so new to this dynamic, is trying to be as respectful as he can, defending his faith without disparaging any other point of view - he looks so lost. Anders and Merrill are somehow, someway, arguing against each other but for the same thing - the freedom to be trusted to do the right thing until they are proven wrong. Isabela is mostly annoyed at how serious everyone is, and trying to laugh it off and stop everyone else from drawing her in. Fenris is arguing against everyone: Anders and his freedom for all mages, Merrill and her mirror, Isabela’s crass neutral stance, Sebastian’s inability to join the argument in earnest, and Varric’s attempts at peacemaking when there is no common ground at the table - and they all refuting him. When Aveline finally notices what Hawke is seeing, she opens her mouth to speak, but Hawke beats her to it.

Taking a page from Aveline, Hawke drops her staff clattering to the floor and shouts “Oi” at the group. They all turn from their fighting to gape at her, and Aveline steps forward, putting a hand on Hawke’s shoulder - but Hawke glares at her. “I have something to say.” and she turns back to them all.

“I get it now - what Carver was always on about you lot. Bleeding nineteen years old and he had focus on what was _important_ , a _goal_. You’ve all be fighting about the same bollocks for years. We stopped a _war_ tonight - and none of you _care_ , you just want to go on, and on, about what you’ve always gone on about. And that war, it may still happen, but none of you care very much about that - do you? Maker’s tits…”

“The Maker…” Sebastian began, to chide Hawke’s blasphemy or offer condolences, she didn’t give him a chance to finish.

“The Maker is _gone_ \- your chant says so, Seb. I hear you say the Maker may have… done something to change our lives from time to time, but he’s quite obviously left the big picture up to all of us to sort out, and we’ve been making a mess of it since Andraste’s pyre.” She turned on Merrill “And so are the Creators, since they’re all so disappointed in the elves and their inability to stop people who have been _killing_ and _enslaving_ them for a thousand years.” She kicked the empty chair in front of her. “And since neither are coming back until all the humans join hands and start singing the Chant in unison, and the elves do the same and… sing Uthenera, I guess, it’s all bloody up to us, isn’t it?”

“Hawke-” began Fenris and Anders - both stopping to glare at each other. Hawke ignores them both and plows on.

“Or, maybe whatever’s in charge is expecting us to do the best we can - and usually, I think, we are.

Aveline is Captain of the bloody Guard, and she’s still looking out for all of us.

Anders is doing his damndest to save the mages.

Isabella is making the world a better place with her beautiful ass and generous sharing of mutual pleasure.

Sebastian is dithering here because he’s trying to do the right thing by everyone in Starkhaven, even if most of us bloody-well know he should go home and get his throne, usurpers be damned.

Merrill… that mirror - as daft as you lot think her, she is trying to build something, recover something.

Varric and all his stories, and his not-secret secret bribing bad people to not do bad things.

And Fenris - Fenris is learning to be as a free man should, and you lot don’t even know how to help him outside of your own limited views, not that I’m much better.”

Hawke’s throat closes,, and she chokes out her next words. She looks to Fenris, but her words are for them all. “And that’s why I love all you silly fools. And Carver, who’s out saving the world while I’m chewing you all out like a mad woman.” She wipes tears from her cheek, and turns back to Aveline. “Was that what you were going to say, Captain.”

“I was just going to say Shut Up. But that was better.” Aveline looks over the table, at everyone who are sitting still and obviously unsure of what to do. “You’ve had your game, and your drink. And Hawke’s had her vent. I think it might be time to call it a night.”

Isabella and Sebastian shoot straight up - then stop, abashed. They awkwardly take their leave, Aveline craning her neck to ensure they take separate paths, Isabela to her room, Sebastian out the front door. Varric pats Merrils hand, murmurs good night, and she too leaves, skirting Hawke and Aveline with a shy smile. Anders sighs and stands, offers an assurance that he will make sure Merrill makes it to her door before he takes the stairs to Darktown, he too leaves. With a final look at Fenris, Aveline takes off with promises she would catch up with Sebastian and not go to Hightown alone. 

Hawke turns to Fenris. “What was that for? - that look?”

“Nothing” Fenris prevaricates. “Just a long conversation the two of us are having.”

“About?” Hawke presses.

Varric snorts. “About you I’d guess… What? This IS my room” he says to Fenris’ glare “Now I won’t be offended if you have other things you’d rather do. But now that you’ve run out the rabble, I won’t tell Aveline if you two want to stick around for a few rounds.”

Fenris looks to Hawke, who only shrugs, leaving the decision up to him - they would be walking back to Hightown together either way. “I would.. like that” he says. Then, rising, he offers his hand and escorts her to the seat to Varric’s right. Instead of sitting opposite of her however, he sits next to her, and wraps his arm around her waist as she leans into and rests her head on his shoulder. As Varric busies himself ordering more drinks from Nora, Fenris ducks his head to Hawke’s and in a low voice, says“I am sorry - that this is all on your shoulders. They are - unworthy of you.”

Hawke sighs lightly, “I’m sorry too.” and after a moment of silence between them, continues. “Why does it seem we’re having another conversation at the same time?”

Hawke shifts with his shrug. “Because we are. Do you mind it continuing as we are?”

“Not tonight. And thank you.”

“Of course, Hawke. Always.”

Then Norah is gone to fetch their drinks, and Varric is shuffling cards. Hawke sits up, but Fenris does not pull away - and the three of them while away the night at cards and quiet conversation until the pink-orange light of morning seeps through Kirkwall Harbor and into the high windows of the Hanged Man’s common room, and the awful night is finally over.


End file.
